Page 65 of Betrayed

I drag the tip of my knife slowly over his skin till I have the Bachman Brotherhood emblem in his blood.

Then, I make the final cut across his neck. And end him.

I stand there, the smell of blood permeating the air, the sight of him ingrained in me, my boots sinking in pig shit.

Bayne approaches, calm as a wolf in the snow.

“Well,” he mutters, surveying the corpse. “That was messy.”

I let the knife drop to the ground. “I want to end them all. Every fucking one of them.”

“Then you should join the Kings,” he says. His men fill the room. He gestures for them to clean up.

“You should become a Bachman. We could use a man like you.”

“We’re stronger as allies.” He holds out a hand to shake mine, seeing the blood, thinking better of it.

Behind us, they drag Caleb’s body away.

Bayne drapes a heavy arm around my shoulder, guiding me through the moonlit night as the adrenaline slowly leaves my veins. He takes me back to the farmhouse to clean up.

Caleb’s blood stains my hands. I wash them in the small pedestal sink. Once. Twice. A third time.

The water runs red, then pink, then clear.

Still, I feel it.

The ghost of that bastard’s laughter. The smirk on his face as he spat that filth with his last breath—like he thought he could win.

Like he thought he could define her.

He’s dead now.

And it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Bayne pours two fingers of whiskey into a glass and slides it across the large wooden farm table.

“You did what needed doing,” he says, his brogue deep, the words barely decipherable under his thick Shetland drawl. “Don’t let guilt confuse vengeance.”

I down the whiskey. It burns. Not enough.

“I should’ve killed him sooner,” I rasp.

“You couldn’t have.”

“He didn’t break her. He never could have.”

“Still. After this, you’re going to have to put her back together.”

I sip the whiskey, and for once, accept an order from Bayne.

When I get back to Red Shutters, I find her sitting up, knees tucked under her chin. She doesn’t hear me until I’m crouched beside the bed.

Her eyes lift. “Lucian.”

“I was hoping you’d sleep through it.”

“How could I stay asleep? This bed was freezing without you.” She smiles. “You burn hot. You’re like my personal heater.”